


Trial & Error

by HarleyRoux



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman: Arkham Asylum (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarleyRoux/pseuds/HarleyRoux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overexposure to his own toxin has left Jonathan Crane devoid of fear. In its absence, the good doctor is desperate for a taste at the expense of /anyone's/ suffering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trial & Error

His apartment shakes with the passing train, his focus disrupted for what seems the hundredth time. Jonathan huffs as he flips back a page in his book, starting over from the same paragraph he’s been stuck on for forty five minutes. Though, it isn’t the Bowery’s charming ambiance that has him on edge. He's quite used to the rattling pang of frozen rain against his window, and the stench of the sewers from the neighboring alley. Passing cars screech against the wet slick of November snow, swerving in panicked attempt to evade sourceless gunshot. Everything points to a typical night in Gotham, yet the good doctor’s pulse is beginning to throb against his throat.

He taps two fingers to the point on his scrawny neck, eyes to the cracked glass of his wristwatch as he counts each beat under his breath. It’s a small change, but a change nonetheless. He’s both ashamed and elated to count it as the first sign of progress in weeks, though that glimmer of foolish hope fades as fast as his epinephrine levels. The fleeting spike serves barely enough to touch his temples with sweat, let alone spiral him into the nightmarish abyss he so longs for. Jonathan clenches his teeth in vain restraint of his aggravation, hands rolled to fists in the sheets draped across his lap. Freud’s _General Theory of Neuroses_ topples to the floor as those sheets are yanked back with a growl that propels Crane to his feet.

“ _Impossible_ ,” the floorboards creak beneath him as he paces, “I’ve readjusted the Psilacetin and **tripled** the dosage. I should be nearing cardiac arrest by now.”

With a small, defeated sigh, Jonathan turns his attention towards his whimpering bed mate. His eyes narrow in curious scrutiny as Edward finally begins to thrash about, writhing in helpless agony. A fraction of his own dose, and the man is drowning in sweet, tangible fear. Crane’s reluctant to admit his own envy as his wiseacre companion begins to scream, desperately flailing in defense against an imagined attacker, mewling for mercy that’s never come naturally to the esteemed psychiatrist. Yet, as terror eludes him at every turn, Jonathan takes small solace in the rush that shoots down between his legs, rousing a different kind of primal sense.

It’s not what he wanted, but after months of numbing failure, to feel something is reward enough.

“My dear, dear Edward,” he smirks as he lowers to sit on the bed, reaching to brush his fingers through the other’s sweat-soaked hair.

“How do you _feel?”_


End file.
